


Nip it in the bud

by SenTheSeventh



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Biting, Feral Behavior, Humor, Incest, M/M, Multi, Parent/Child Incest, Post-Canon, Sibling Incest, The Sparda are great at feelings, Threesome - M/M/M, Uncle/Nephew Incest, background Kyrie/Nero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 17:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18815476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenTheSeventh/pseuds/SenTheSeventh
Summary: “Eyh, it’s like a mother animal nipping her children when they misbehave! It’s cute, must be a brotherly thing that they’ve gotten back into now that they’re closer,” Nico “I’ve-no-sense-of-normal-human-behavior” Goldstein quips brightly when he mentions it to her.“I’ve never seen Credo 'nip' Kyrie!”“Ya can’t judge from one instance, ya know. Each family is unique.”Yeah, his own family surely is unique.Dante and Vergil come back from the Underworld with a new quirk, and Nero is Troubled with a capital T.





	Nip it in the bud

**Author's Note:**

> Title and beta work by the very, very lovely [Sootandshadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootandshadow/pseuds/sootandshadow)! Go give them a read, you'll thank me later <3

So twelve demon witches have united their strengths to open a new rift toward the human world, taking advantage of yet another Yamato fragment, and unleashed hordes of devils everywhere, but anyway, that’s not Nero’s main problem here.

What _is_ his current focus is that Dante and Vergil took advantage of said rift to come back from the Underworld and that they’ve gained this weird nipping habit.

Nero didn’t notice at first. He was too busy being elated that they were back and pissed off at them for leaving, a storm of emotion that he – that _they_ are slowly exorcizing together. Violence _did_ help, even if the few good fights they had ended with the sensation that Dante and Vergil were restraining themselves for him. The thought was both immensely frustrating and… kind of… Well. Like they cared. Even though they were two gigantic assholes who left him behind.

(One day, _he_ ’s going to be the one holding back when they fight.)

Anyway, physically, they haven’t changed one iota; even their _hair_ is the same length as when they flew to the Underworld. Nico, the resident self-made demonologist of _Devil May Cry_ , thinks that the blood the Qliphoth pumped into them kind of… froze them in time. Something else is different about them, however, something that he can’t 100% put his finger on but which catches his attention all the same. Though he can’t say anything for sure about Vergil, his stranger of an arm-stealing father, the spark in Dante’s eyes is a bit wilder, his moves a bit quicker, even smoother than before. Of course, there’s also the fact that he’s happy and having a whole lot of fun bickering and bantering with his older twin, but Nero feels like Dante’s demon half is… stronger than before. More visible under the surface.

Case in point: the goddamn nipping.

It’s not really _nipping_ per se, even if Nero just can’t think about it as anything but. It’s something the twins do when they’re bickering or when they disagree with each other. Sometimes, Vergil grabs Dante’s nape – not with his fingertips, but with his whole hand – and sometimes, Dante will hold Vergil’s throat. In a way, it feels like the precursor to a fight, but any time Nero catches them at it, Vergil scoffs and Dante just grins back at him.

Witnessing these exchanges makes the side of Nero’s neck tingle and he has to stop himself from touching the spot reflexively, ashamed without quite knowing why.

“Eyh, it’s like a mother animal nipping her children when they misbehave! It’s cute, must be a brotherly thing that they’ve gotten back into now that they’re closer,” Nico “I’ve-no-sense-of-normal-human-behavior” Goldstein quips brightly when he mentions it to her.

“I’ve never seen Credo 'nip' Kyrie!”

“Ya can’t judge from _one_ instance, ya know. Each family is unique.”

Yeah, his own family surely _is_ unique.

His family. The idea still evokes warm amazement in him, a sappiness that he’ll never share with anyone but Kyrie.

“So,” Nico grins, “yer jealous?”

“What? No!”

“Want me to pinch yer neck? I’ll be yer big sis!”

“ _Urgh_ , that just sound like the beginning of a bad porno.” Nero swats at her reaching hands, careful not to use too much strength. She laughs.

“Ya got such a dirty mind, mister Country boy! Where did ya learn that kinda thang?”

“I dunno, maybe from the mastermind behind Sweet Surrender?”

Nero had really believed that it was a thoughtful gift when Nico showed him her creation; after all he doesn’t really know his own strength when it comes to handling people, frequently doing more harm than good when he tries to do something as simple as massaging Kyrie’s shoulders. He can’t help but be a little fearful for when they’ll do more than just kiss or hug. But then Nico wriggled her eyebrows and elbowed him with a sly look on her face and all at once he _understood._ Now he can’t use the damn thing without feeling incredibly dirty.

“Ain’t I a good influence?” Nico drawls proudly, struggling with her lighter.

“Not gonna answer that question,” Nero retorts. He fishes among the mess for her safety lighter, the one that she keeps when the first fails; Nico cigarette glows, toxic smoke soon invading the van.

Sometimes, Nero feels like he’s actively working against himself.

***

There are twelve towers keeping the Underworld portal open, and the group had initially planned to send one hunter per building; even Lady, the most fragile of them five, can easily take down a few hordes with her arsenal. But Nico bitches at having to cover the distance between the towers each time they call her for weapon upgrades or refills, so they split in two groups as a compromise: Lady and Trish on one side, Dante, Vergil and Nero on the other. Nero feels like a third wheel, bristling instinctively as they make their way through a mess of unnatural plants and frozen fire that is somehow evocative of Gothic architecture. He purposefully keeps a few steps ahead of Dante and Vergil: he hates seeing their backs.

Devils are thankfully quick to come, giving Nero the perfect outlet to exhaust his frustration. He flies, punches and claws with joyous abandon, barely caring about the deadly blur of red and blue that are dancing nearby – whatever, _whatever_. He’s playing, he’s in _his_ element, he feels strong and powerful and everything falls before him, so weak and slow and it’s _great_.

It ends too soon, leaving Nero with the taste of frustration on his tongue – far more bitter than the blood he’s licking off his lips. Reluctantly, he turns toward the twins.

Both of them are in demon form and Dante is at Vergil’s throat, biting deeply through inhuman flesh. Nero doesn’t even waste time cursing them and their fratricide-loving ways; he’s already triggered and launched himself at them, firmly determined to wreck the two assholes to teach them about familial harmony.

He catches them off-guard and lands two good, solid punches, grabbing them in the next instant and throwing them apart from each other – at least, that’s the plan, except Vergil manages to catch his wrist with his tail, destabilizing him. They fall, still intertwined, and Nero has a second to think _fuck_ before he’s pinned face first into the floor.

Sharp fangs close on his nape, sinking deep enough to draw blood. A cocktail of pain and fear explode through Nero, followed instantly by a storm of desire and twisted, jealous satisfaction. He hears himself screech, an inhuman noise that rings through the silence as his body relaxes in reflexive submission.

There’s a very small part of Nero still miraculously capable of thought, but it’s so busy panicking he’s just a mess of instincts – fear, defiance, belonging. He can’t seem to stop trembling, angry and, against all reason _, hard_.

“Vergil!”

Dante’s call makes Vergil’s jaw unclench and Nero tries to get away, only to find out that his strength has deserted him – he just crumbles pathetically, returning to his normal shape.

“Nero.” Vergil’s voice is human, colored with an anxiety that seems totally uncharacteristic for him. His father turns him face up, looking in his eyes. “How do you feel?”

“The _fuck_ was that?” He struggles to get up, but the shock still lingers in his body and he _hates_ it. Dante has also untriggered and sits on his heels nearby, worry shifting into a warm grin when he meets Nero’s gaze. The young demon hunter clenches his fist, one second away from German suplexing his kin. “Answer me!”

The twins exchange a glance.

“ _You_ bit him, Vergil, so _you_ explain.”

“… It’s a habit we gained in the Underworld. It doesn’t concern you”

“It doesn’t concern me? You – I!” Finishing this sentence seemed so easy before Nero realized he would have to mention fear and arousal. He clenches his fists; violence is a temptation, release just a punch away, but phantom pain still stings in his nape and that’s – he’s –

“What Vergil means is that he didn’t mean to bite you and he’s sorry,” Dante says lightly. Vergil glowers at him. Nero rubs his forehead, trying to think.

“Why do you do that to each other?”

“Power,” Vergil states, at the same time Dante smiles and says, “It’s a family thing.”

They glare at each other. They’re so fucking stupid, and still Nero feels that the two answers are part of the real truth. He scowls, crossing his arms. “Just fucking tell me before I punch you again.”

“It’s a way to signify your dominance over another demon,” Vergil explains quietly.

“What the fuck? Are you _still_ fighting about that?”

“Yes,” they reply in unison, like they are stating the obvious.

Dumbasses.

“But it’s something you do with someone you consider your kin,” Dante adds quickly, maybe because he doesn’t like what he sees in Nero’s expression.

The young demon hunter feels his stomach drop. So he’s the twisted fuck who’s getting aroused by family attention? Is he so fucking desperate for love? Grief, shame and hate toward himself all prickle at the corner of his eyes, contained by sheer pride.

“We… didn’t want to do it to you because we thought you might take it as an aggression,” Vergil says slowly.

“Which it is,” Dante pointed out.

“If you wish to participate, you can. And since I’ve bitten you once, I’ll let you do it to me if you desire to.”

“ _Vergil_!” Dante’s voice is incredulous and disapproving – a warning – but Nero neither knows nor cares why. His father’s offer and the images it invokes in his mind are enough to short-circuit his brain, rushing straight South, and his skin feels tight from arousal. The latter should be enough to say _hell_ _no_ , but he’s thinking of Vergil lying down for him with Nero’s teeth at his throat and _fuck –_

“Okay, I – I’ll bite you.” His voice is rough, shaky.

Vergil looks at him and simply nods, opening the lapel of his vest. Nero stares at his father’s hands, the calm ease with which he bares his neck for him. His stomach is a twisted ball of anticipation and he has to swallow once or twice, too focused to notice that he’s salivating more than usual.

“Vergil, this is a bad idea,” Dante growls.

Vergil throws a glance at his brother. “Nero has earned it, Dante.”

“You know what I mean! Nero, listen, it’s more complicated than you think. Demon instincts are a bitch – you _really_ shouldn’t play with them.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Nero retorts distractedly. His father’s throat is white, vulnerable, bared for _him_. He grabs at Vergil’s wrist, feeling him tense, and pushes him to the floor – there’s a brief resistance, the son of Sparda reluctant to give up the control he offered, and then Nero’s straddling him, hand sprawled across his chest to keep him down, mind empty of anything but the moment. Every muscle, every single nerve in his body is so tense it feels like the wrong movement could make him snap, his frantic heart beating so fast he thinks it will explode right in the tight cage of his ribs.

Vergil stays carefully still when Nero leans down. His scent is both foreign and strangely familiar: leather, metal and something muskier, headier, that the young demon hunter breathes in deeply before he bites.

His head goes blank. It’s not only pleasure which explodes in moving flames through his guts and groin; it’s power and triumph and peace white-hot in his mind as he marks his father with his presence, his strength, _him_ engraved in Vergil’s flesh. The taste of blood and sweat, the smell, his father under his hand, body tense and unmoving and shivering on the verge of triggering – sensations and feelings that burn with the intensity of white-hot iron, branding the moment further and deeper in him. He’s panting in hot, humid gasps of air against Vergil’s skin, hands clutching at his coat, hips rutting against his, looking for a release he’s not even conscious he needs because this is the center of his universe, his mark and his power on the man under him.

He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what he wants – he’s held in the moment, prisoner of its perfection, clasped by the feelings that are rushing through his mind and his body. Then Vergil’s fingers grab at his hips and – _then_ a strong hand is closing on his neck and throwing him away from his father. He roars with frustration and tries to struggle, but the enemy – Dante – manages to pin him down, _again_. Nero triggers, his devil arms clawing furiously at his uncle. Dante is surprised enough that he can sucker punch him away, instantly rising to throw himself at his throat. The fight is short, violent, angry. Dante’s kept his human form, teeth clenched as he flawlessly blocks most of Nero’s attacks, and then Vergil just steps between them, containing Dante’s strike just as his doppelganger grabs two of Nero’s fists.

“Enough!” This is the first time Nero ever heard his father shout; the young demon hunter freezes, anger snuffed out like a flame between cold fingers. His uncle seems just as subdued, staring at his brother with wild eyes. “Dante! What is the meaning of this?”

Nero has only ever seen Dante furious twice: when he faced Urizen and when he tried to prevent him from fighting Vergil. Right now, though, the other hunter’s features are alight with barely contained anger and – what the hell – _jealousy_ , eyes fastened on his twin as if Nero didn’t matter, which. _Fuck_ him.

“‘What is the meaning of this’? You were this close to fucking!”

Reality comes crashing down because Dante’s right, Nero was about to, he was _doing it_ , and shame and dread are suddenly choking him more painfully than anything a demon has ever done – more painfully than the loss of his arm or a sword deep in him.

He wanted to fuck his father.

He betrayed Kyrie.

He wants to crumble, but pride holds him upward. Dante notices, though, remorse and pity tearing anger away from him, and Nero would have punched him for this insulting compassion any other time. Right now, though, he’s nothing but a knot of self-hatred and grief.

“Kid… It’s not your fault. It’s the bite, it – does things to us. You’re young and less experienced, it’s –”

“It’s my fucking fault!” Nero barks, fists clenched. “I’m not a fucking child! I'm aware of my actions!”

“But you’re just coming into your demonic powers and you _don’t know_! That’s why Vergil shouldn’t have fucking offered you _this_!”

Nero turns to his father. Vergil looks – maybe a little confused, a little angry, tense. Nero still struggles to read his old man; he’s slowly learning to decipher some hints, but Dante seems to understand every imperceptible shift in his twin’s frozen features and that’s so fucking frustrating. It’s just another sign that he’s the odd one out. “It’s a sexual thing?”

“I don’t know. It does have intense appeal to our demon instincts,” Vergil explains in his quiet, cool voice.

“Dante said it was about family! And you grab at each other’s necks all the time! What is that, some kind of PG version of the real thing?” His uncle has the good grace of looking trapped. Vergil shrugs.

“It’s what we do between brothers, yes, and in that sense, we’ve seen it as familial. But we do have a sex –”

It’s impressive and a bit chilling, the way Dante moves with a celerity that Nero only ever saw him demonstrate before Urizen to punch his brother. Vergil doesn’t expect it; the older twin goes through a few walls before the noise stops.

Nero gazes at Dante, wide-eyed. “You’re fucking?”

Dante winces, looking like he wishes he wasn’t here, or could turn back time. That makes two of them.

“Nero –”

“So that’s a _yes_. What the _fuck_ , Dante? What the _fuck_! You’re brothers! You’re _twins_!” He’s shouting and coming apart, shaking and that close from crying. _His_ family and they’re all messed up, they don’t see each other as family at all, don’t see _him_ as family at all. He hates himself for believing in it and for… everything.

No wonder they left so easily for the Underworld.

Dante stoically waits for the last of his shouts to finish ringing out in the silence, face tight and hurt. “Nero,” he says softly. Nero could tell him to go to Hell a second time, but he’s feeling so lost that he just stares. “Kid – Nero… Listen.” The son of Sparda searches for his words, fiddling with his sword’s hilt. “We’re brothers, yeah. But… It’s more. Maybe it’s demonic, but it’s also human.”

“What’s _human_ about fucking your brother?” Nero retorts bitterly.

Something angry flashes it Dante’s eyes, but his uncle controls himself. “Loving him,” he says quietly.

Nero doesn’t have a reply to that. He doesn’t even know what to feel anymore.

“I’m not going to do or say anything... wrong to you, Nero. Vergil’s Vergil, you’re you, and what you are is my nephew.”

Nero doesn’t bother answering. When Vergil comes back, brushing debris from his coat, he looks at them quizzically – face carefully composed, calm, like he’s in control of the situation. His stare falls on Dante last, and the later just shrugs. “I told him.”

Vergil stares at Nero, seemingly detailing his expression, his body language. “Do you have questions, Nero?”

“Why did you ask me to bite you?” It’s the first thing that came to his mind. He’s not sure why, doesn’t want to think too closely about it – a mess of feelings is boiling inside him and his skin itches with the need to let it all out, preferably through violence. Better keep it down, keep it controlled.

“It seemed only fair. I had bitten you, established power over you. You had the right to be allowed to settle the score. I thought you would like it.”

“You thought I would _like_ it?”

“Yes?” Vergil answers like it’s the most natural thing to infer. “We share the same blood; you have the same urges, don’t you?”

“You encouraged me to fuck you!”

“Obviously not. I offered you a bite, not sex.”

“I was –” _Rubbing myself off on you_ , Nero chokes on, and feels the blush creeping from his neck to his ears.

“… Doing what you wanted. If it pleased you, I saw no reason to stop you.”

Dante growls at those words, fingers opening and closing in fists. Vergil glances at him, disdainful, and then back at Nero, taking in his helpless expression; his hand lays on Yamato’s hilt as he turns toward the ice-encased stairs they have to climb.

“We have a tower to destroy. Let’s move along.”

They follow silently.

It’s only when they’re smack in the middle of the next battle that Nero realizes he chose the wrong question. He should have asked why Vergil bit him in the first place – and he didn’t fucking think about that. Now it’s far too fucking late.

He’s so goddamn _stupid_.

***

The day afterward, Nero manages to find a phone and call Kyrie. The following conversation is a necessary one, because there’s no way he’ll keep her totally in the dark – he just leaves out the incest part, because that would be too hurtful to her, and focuses on the “I’m a demonic mess” thing. They end up crying together and, as always, she’s far too fucking good for him.

“Listen, Nero, I’ve told you I loved all of you, devil as well as human. If your demon… needs something I can’t give you, that doesn’t mean you love me less, that doesn’t invalidate what we have... Does it?”

“I love you,” he chokes out.

“I know. I love you, too. And I wish for you to be happy. As long as you keep loving me the way you do, Nero, you have my blessing to feel however you are. You spent so long hiding from yourself, and I don’t want to be the person that holds you back. Just please don’t hurt anyone – I don’t… maybe I'd prefer not to know the details, but as long as I feel the same love in your hugs, I’m okay.”

Maybe Nero should have talked about the whole incest aspect of the situation, but she just said that she didn’t want the details and he – fuck.

He’s so unworthy of her.

They exchange “I love you’s” one last time before he hangs up. When he manages to sleep, his rest is intertwined with dirty, poisonous dreams where his father and his uncle are writhing under his teeth – where _he_ ’s the one pinned and vulnerable on the floor – where Vergil’s hands on his hips slide lower and _take_ –

He wakes up frustrated and horny, shame weighing heavy on his shoulders.

The day afterward, they finish destroying the towers, no surprise here, and then busy themselves dismantling the spiderweb-portal-thing that the witches invoked. Lady and Trish are in excellent spirits: they’re having a competition about their number of kills and Nero suspects that both of them are slightly inflating tallies. That, or the towers they took care of were some kind of demon housing project with an overpopulation problem.

There’s something off with the twins, however. It’s not just that they’re barely talking; Dante’s always cheerful enough to disguise the tension of his smile and Vergil, well, he prefers staying in the background while others are chatting. They’re both fighting at a distance, and their previous synchronicity is just slightly _wrong_ – not enough that an unskilled observer would notice, but Nero sees it clear as day. Judging by the glances Lady and Trish exchange, they’re not blind to it either. When Vergil almost decapitates Dante, or rather _more_ almost decapitate him than usual – part of the brothers’ fighting style rely on their sibling having great reflexes – Nero sees them snarl at each other and his nape throb as in anticipation, his body reacting the opposite of his mind. But Dante just steps away from his brother and instead launches himself into a devastating attack against two spike-adorned abominations. Is it Nero's fault? He shouldn’t feel so guilty about ruining an incestuous relationship, but here he fucking is.

It takes them about a week of work to completely get rid of the portal. Enemies fall one after the other, a merry gallery of self-important lieutenants and witches. Doesn’t matter. Nero’s frustration is a low persistent hum at the back of his mind, a furious throb in the core of his muscles. Even just seeing the twins snarl at each other make a part of him jealous – needy.

It all comes to a head when they're about to fight the final witch, who fused with some artifact of supreme power and yada yada. They’re standing in the antechamber, a sparkle-filled granite disc floating in the middle of nothing; Lady and Trish are staying behind to clean up the small fries while Nero and the twins will move forward in search of the witch. “We’re leaving you with the kids,” the blonde demon whispers at Nero, a mix of dark amusement and exasperation.

Nero hesitates. It’s not the time to ask, but it’ll probably never be. “What does it mean when a devil bites another on the neck?”

Trish raises her eyebrows at him, arms crossed, the very picture of elegant wondering. “That they’re about to rip out their jugular or any anatomical equivalent.”

“And when they don’t?”

A spark of understanding widens her eyes, and she takes a quick look at the twins. _Fuck_. Nero forgot she was that perceptive.

“They _did_ stop their little nipping routine, didn’t they?” She wonders out loud, throwing a knowing glance at Nero.

“Yeah. So?”

Trish smiles at him. “It means ‘you’re mine.’ Make of that what you will, kid, it’s none of _my_ business.”

Nero’s hand is flying to his nape before he realizes what the gesture might imply and blushes. Trish’s amusement is almost a physical thing at this point, but she simply turns back and waves. “Have fun together, boys!” Which is about the worst way of putting it.

Not that Vergil or Dante heard, of course, because they’re busy being tense, hostile and unhappy. As usual, Nero reins in the urge to hit the idiots and plunges his hands in his pockets. “So, we goin’ or you prefer spending the next few hours glaring at each other?”

They both glower at him and he feels a surge of vicious satisfaction at being the center of their attention for once. “I don’t give a fuck about your – thing with each other,” he lies through his teeth, “but we’ve got a world to save, so keep it for later, alright?”

“So,” Dante says lightly, “what I’m hearing is ‘last one to reach the witch is a chicken.’ Is that right, Nero?”

Nero doesn’t have the time to call his uncle a man-child because Dante’s already Trickstering ahead with a laugh, Vergil teleporting to catch up, and of course he _has_ to run too, equipping a Punch Line to give himself the extra edge because there’s no way he’s going to lose to those two old men.

They burst through the giant ebony doors that are protecting the mutated witch’s final chamber, startling her as she was contemplating the abyss which opens beyond her windows. The Yamato slices her a neat line across her festering chest before she even has time for a monologue, tearing an indignant scream from her lichen-adorned throat.

“I won,” Vergil states calmly.

“No can do! I broke the door first,” Dante points out.

“Your exact words were to ‘reach the witch,’ not her room.”

“Yeah, but it was all a metaphor.”

“ **What are you talking about?** ” The witch booms. The two brothers look at Nero, obviously designating him as arbiter.

“You’re both being children and I’m not humoring you,” he firmly declares.

“ _Someone_ ’s a sore loser,” Dante teases before launching in a surprisingly (and horrifyingly) accurate imitation of chicken noises.

“ **Die!** ” The witch roars, blasting pure magic at them just as Nero punches Dante.

They’re all taken aback – the demon, Nero and Dante. Getting directly struck by some kind of energy ray thing hurts, of course, but he’s withstood far worse and he feels some vengeful satisfaction at hearing Vergil’s cold “ _Scum_ ” through ringing ears.

The fight’s a mess. Dante’s cheekily trying to get back at him for the punch, Nero’s attempting to return hit for hit, and Vergil’s just aiming at them both, admonishing them for their foolishness. The giant demonic creature seeking to destroy them is but a way to get momentum, to get more adrenaline pumping in Nero’s veins as he – as _they_ play and he’s feeling so fucking powerful, it’s so great, and even Dante and Vergil’s moves seems easier to read, somewhat answering the hot pulse inside him. It’s a dance, one they all know the steps to, and--

Nero doesn’t notice when the witch falls, or who kills her; he remembers starry ichor sprayed everywhere, and the sense of completion that throw him against Dante, searching for the hand-to-hand combat that his body craves. It seems so natural, the violence and Dante’s laugh against him, apparent relaxation belied by his bared teeth, and it’s so fucking _good_ when he manages to grab his uncle and throws him face first into the ground.

Nero doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until the moment his fangs close onto Dante’s nape, and then triumph explodes in his chest like drunkenness, one of his thighs pushing between the other demon hunter's legs to spread him, open him up, heat and strength stunned under him until there’s a jealous growl in his ear and cold fingers pinching his nape.

Nero freezes just before Dante snarls and throws him off, Vergil’s hand keeping him from flying away. His uncle’s eyes meet his – wide, frantic, about as lost as he feels himself.

“What the hell...” Dante mutters. Then he forces a relaxed smile, but the mask falls askew, off, nervousness seeping through the cracks. “Got bad reflexes, huh, Nero?”

“It is about time we address this, Dante,” Vergil says coldly. Nero shakes off the hand still holding his neck, rubbing at the skin as though he could erase the warm, gut-tightening feeling buzzing in his blood.

Dante groans, affecting dramatic disapproval. “Don’t we have better things to do?”

“Do we?”

Neither Nero nor Dante knows what to say to that. Vergil coldly stares at them. “Well, then, I’ll be going first. I’ve spent years fighting Dante and I don’t want to start again. What we have and what we are never concerned anybody but us. Do you disagree, Dante? Will you break this off to suit others?”

Dante clenches his fist, gaze locked on the ground; he speaks through his teeth, but his voice is quiet, devoid of hesitation. “You know the answer, Vergil. Of course not.”

“So you’ll let me touch your neck in public again.”

There’s a quick smile through the tension gripping Dante, a spark of his eternal levity. “I’ll let you touch mine if you lemme touch yours.”

Vergil rolls his eyes with a hint of fondness – softness on his hard face before he looks at Nero, piercing arctic irises searching for his own. “Now, Nero. Speak.”

“What?”

“Your own malaise. Explain it.”

“Wha– Uh –” He’s used to talking things out with Kyrie, of course, it’s just that they don’t usually do that by demanding a thesis from each other. And honestly, what can he say? His father just reaffirmed that he was a proud card-carrying member of the incest club, which is kind of his big problem here. That and the fact that part of him desperately wishes to join. “Okay, so… You guys are an item.”

“A most accurate observation,” Vergil quips dryly.

“Why?”

The oldest twin raises an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms. “Do you need me to talk to you about love?” Dante’s breath audibly catches, and his brother’s eyes go briefly to him before they return on Nero, who’s trying to take the whole thing bit by bit and _do not freak out or at least not yet_.

“Uh – I – no. I… So. Why did you bite me?”

Vergil hesitates. Dante steps forwards, as if attracted by the question.

“Instinct,” his father finally replies.

“… That’s not an answer,” Nero points out, crossing his arms. Vergil narrows his eyes. Oh, so _someone_ was okay with talking as long as it was on his terms, was that it? “I know why I bit you,” Nero retorts hotly. “It was taking back the power I’d lost when you did it to me and – fuck, it was my demon being aroused that I could hold your throat between my teeth. That you offered me this. And I know why I bit Dante so stop looking jealous, Dante, you giant man-child. Both of you are the strongest men I know and… my family. Even now, I – the demon fucking want to bite you.”

 _My family_. It’s horrible and it’s true: when Nero bites them, he feels like they’re _his_. Twisted demon possessiveness, leaving his mark in their flesh and _liking_ it. He’s not going to flee from it, though. He’s had enough silence and hypocrisy for a lifetime in Fortuna. The only person he’d lie for is Kyrie; the others will have to deal with the big fucking ugly truth plastered in their face.

“So, your turn, _father_. Why did you bite me?”

Vergil glowers at him and of course Dante, the big-mouthed bastard, snickers and make yet another chicken noise. Nero doesn’t even flinch when his father rushes to tear at his brother, frustrated at the evasion but letting them get the tension out of their system. It ends up with both twins exhausted on each side of the room, panting and sweating.

“Feeling better?” Nero asks sarcastically.

“There’s no situation that can’t be made better by hitting my dear big brother,” Dante declares cheerfully.

“There’s no situation that can’t be made better by shutting up my little brother,” Vergil states flatly.

“I’m so proud of you both,” Nero concludes with bitter irony. “So, about my question?”

Vergil purses his lips and gets up, using Yamato as a support. The gesture is oddly reminiscent of V – but maybe Nero’s projecting his hopes on his father, finding resemblances the same way one can imagine smiling faces in clouds and pearls in the sea foam.

He liked V, his quiet wit, dramatic flair and indomitable will.

He was attracted to V.

As well as to Dante, he suddenly realizes, 20/20 hindsight hitting him in the back of the head. That’s at least half the reason he was so happy pummeling the son of a bitch when they met in Fortuna, grabbing him and punching him in close combats rather than with weapons. More personal. More vicious. More _physical_. Nascent demon instincts throwing him at the man’s throat, wanting to teach him a lesson – make him acknowledge Nero’s strength, put him in his place.

Is incest genetic?

“I’d guess a mix of fondness and the will to put you back in your place,” Vergil eventually says.

“What?”

“Any other, I would have cut down for daring to get between me and Dante. You are different. Yet you needed to be taught a lesson.”

“What the fuck?” Nero bellows, both outraged by Vergil's reply and disconcerted by the parallels between his and his father’s ways of thinking.

Vergil just answer with a gesture that has the taste of finality – as if the fact that he has explained everything he wanted to means that there is no more questions to be asked or objections to be raised. This, too, is V.

“You’re twenty years too late to teach me _lessons_ , father!”

“So you say.”

Nero’s grabbing his sword when Dante speaks, careless smile plastered on growing tension. “Could you two not flirt in front of me?”

Vergil rolls his eyes as Nero stutters. “N-not everybody flirts by fighting, Dante!”

“We do. We’re Sparda.”

Nero looks at Vergil for support. He’s feeling trapped, skin too tight, heart too loud, and yet above all he's struggling under the weight of something he can’t have. There are the twins and there's him, the third wheel, the outsider, the new guy. Just enough of Dante that Vergil will bite him, just enough of Vergil that Dante can acknowledge him as his nephew.

“Don’t worry,” Nero states roughly, “I’m not here to get in the way of your relationship or anything. I get that I’m the new guy, okay?”

“Nero,” they says in unison.

“Yeah, that’s my name. Come on, let’s just go back. The girls are waiting for us, and I think they half-expected both of you to kill each other with all the hissy fits you’ve been throwing lately.”

Dante reflexively smiles, because if Nero has learned one thing about his uncle, it’s that the guy is just wired for levity – real or fake. Vergil simply stares at Nero and nods, agreeing with God-knows-what.

They turn back and reconvene with the girls. Trish looks at Nero a bit longer than she needs to, but whatever.

He’s fine. Everything is solved. Everything is good. His uncle and his father are in an incestuous relationship, he’s gotten all the answers he wanted and more, and he’s got Kyrie with him to cure him of all the unsavory parts of himself.

Just. Fucking _fine._

***

Next time he’s in town, a few months later, the twins invite him and Nico over. Of course Nico’s overjoyed at the idea of dining with the legendary Dante, though she still hates Vergil out of sheer principle – “fucker cut yer arm off, can’t let him off the hook that easy.”

Nero’s getting used to the wet dreams, now – teeth and fangs lovingly tearing through flesh, pain and pleasure, strength equal or greater than his own; memories intertwined with fantasies so closely as to be indistinguishable.

Messed up. That’s him. He can’t even masturbate without Vergil, Dante or both flashing behind his closed eyelids. For now, frustration is better than giving in – less shameful, and he can hug Kyrie without feeling dirty.

The downside is: frustration, as its name implies, is _frustrating_.

“Think they’re still nippin’ each other?” Nico wonders as they park. Nero almost chokes on his own saliva.

“Don’t say it like that!”

“Eyh, yer the one that called it ‘nippin’ instead of ‘pinchin’!”

“Well, I – I don’t care about it.”

“ _Someone_ ’s in need of a good pinchin’,” she drawls.

Nero just wants to bury himself somewhere and die.

Dinner itself goes fine. Nico’s always been a chatterbox and Dante does a good job of fueling the fire, joking and encouraging her when she gets too wrapped in her star-struck shyness. Vergil only nips Dante once, a quick fluid pinching on the nape. Knowing what he knows, Nero can see the youngest twin’s quickly hidden scowl and the tension disguised in the flippant shrugs with which he chases off his brother’s hand.

They both look at Nero briefly as they do it – a glance that he doesn’t know how to read. He stares uncomfortably at his pizza and try to ignore the warmth tingling under his skin, as well the more straightforward and embarrassing way his pants get tighter around his crotch.

After dinner, they’re invited to stay the night. Now Nero’s sure that the twins have something up their sleeve; Hell if he can guess what, though. Nico refuses the offer, predictably – she far prefers the tobacco-suffused cradle of her van, especially since the whole Sparda family dislike smoking.

Nero accepts, aware that this is not the only thing he’s consenting to yet unable to resist his curiosity. What do they want? He knows them too well to expect further excuses or explanations.

Nico waves him goodbye, demands that he swears he’ll brush his teeth before bed, _ha-ha very funny_ , and close the door behind her. Nero returns to find Vergil, and a reluctant Dante, in the process of cleaning up the dinner table **.** Since the older twin’s arrival, the shop has gotten tidier and less desolate; the decoration is less pin-ups torn from magazines and more paintings. Some are of naked ladies, sure – they call it a compromise between their tastes.

“If getting bossed around by a girlfriend is getting ‘pussy-whipped,’ I wonder what’s the equivalent for when it’s your brother?” Dante grins, tearing pizza boxes down to put them in the trash.

“Don’t finish that thought,” Nero advises.

His uncle chuckles. Nero’s so fucking nervous that he feels like he’s shaking; his heart is pulsing in his throat, stupid fantasies struggling to get to the front of his consciousness. If those assholes don’t tell him why they asked him to stay in the next five minutes – three minutes – _seconds…_

Or maybe they just wanted to have a nice family night, chatting between Sparda. This is probably it. Nero’s just not sure that he can act natural right now: he’s been trying very hard to beat his libido down, but the damn thing has a demon’s persistence.

“Eyh,” Dante says when they’ve finished doing the dishes. Nero, who was setting clean plates in the cupboard, nearly startles.

“Yeah?”

“Got a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“So, you’ve bitten me, right?”

Nero feels his whole body tense. He puts down the last dishes and crosses his arms, working hard at composing an air of self-assurance. “Yeah, I did. So?”

“Remember that Vergil paid you back when he bit you?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you bit me.”

“Get to _the point_ , Dante.”

“Gonna let me bite you? As payback.”

The rush of blood in his veins almost deafens Nero, something clenching hard in his guts, in his throat – desire and anticipation like razor blades in his belly.

“Why.”

“’Coz I want to,” his uncle says with a grin.

“No, Dante, the real reason. I can’t give you something like that if you don’t tell me clearly why you want it. It’s – I’m not like the both of you, I need _words_.” _I need to know if this means something for you. I need to know if I’m the only sucker here_. Fragments of sentences are stumbling on his tongue, a half-coherent mess of rambling feelings, and he shuts up only by sheer force of will.

Something softens in Dante’s eyes, chasing the friendly bravado, and the older demon hunter reaches out to touch his hair; Nero grabs his wrist, bristling at being treated like a child. “Don’t pet me, talk!”

“Sorry, Nero. You know me and y– Vergil, we suck at those kinds of things. So…” His uncle takes a deep breath, curses softly. “This is a mess, and one we shouldn’t drag you in, but it’s your choice in the end.”

Vergil steps forwards, hand touching Dante’s nape. “What Dante is trying to avoid saying is that we want you.”

Something gets stuck in Nero’s throat, air leaving his lungs all of a sudden. “Why?”

Vergil raises an eyebrow at him. “You want to know what I desire about you?”

“Yeah, actually, I’d like that,” Nero manages through his clenched throat.

Vergil reaches out, touching the side of his neck with deliberate softness, and the urge to shake him off gets lost into the anticipation that grabs Nero, trembling in every fiber of his muscles. His father’s hand is cool, smooth, his fingers strong and precise as they settle on his skin – the tip of his thumb just near the jugular, pressing lightly at it moves in a gesture that is halfway between threat and caress. Establishing power. Asking about belonging. Nero can’t breathe.

“I want you to be mine,” Vergil says. “Part of it is about you as a person. I already found you… intriguing as V. Not the same as Dante, of course. He is half of my existence. You’re… something unexpected, more, and I’m not used to being interested in anyone other than my brother. You’re strong, obstinate and strangely human. And the demon in me recognizes you as kin, as a rival. Someone worthy.”

Nero swallows, forcing himself to speak. Vergil’s hand is so soft and so heavy against his throat, the gesture so obscenely intimate, he’d probably feel less out of it if his father was palming at his dick.

“So basically, Dante’s half your life and I’m a bonus?”

“Dante is food and you’re art. I don’t need it to live, but that does not diminish the worth I find in it.”

Nero remembers poetry and dancing and a pale aesthete that practiced both with frank, unabashed enjoyment – another shade of V, this unexpected fondness for art. It’d be so fucking easier to fall for sweet lies and fake promises, but Vergil’s far too frank for that: _we don’t need you, but we want you._ Gratuitous incest. No love-stronger-than-taboos excuses that could help – the choice all on him.

“But if I refused, we could still be – family,” he manages to choke out.

“We already are,” Vergil points out quizzically, as if the whole dysfunctional thing was obvious.

“Whatever you want, Nero, we’re your family and God that sounds so fucked-up in context,” Dante laughs nervously. “But still, that’s true.”

Nero closes his eyes, clenches his fists. He feels like he’s dancing at the edge of the abyss, a hairbreadth’s away for falling and even closer to jumping.

“You assholes,” he says softly. “Bite me, Dante.”

And suddenly Dante’s at his throat, a pulse of animal fear coursing through his vein before blunt teeth sink harshly into his flesh. The pain comes bright and harsh, emphasized razor-sharp by the clench of desire in Nero – yet something in him feels twisted pleasure in it, _embraces_ it. The sense of _belonging_ is bone-deep, softening the frustration of being so powerless. He grips Dante’s shoulders, short nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. The other demon hunter growls, breath vibrating against his skin, so close to where Vergil’s hand is still holding him, fingertips drawing complicated patterns against the side of his neck – a mark of ownership.

It feels so good, it feels so right. All of his instincts are singing, rushing in answer to the _wants_ pooled deep in him. Nero moans, calling for more, and Dante understands, lapping at his skin, hands clenched around his hips.

His thoughts falter, intertwining with desires and feelings. It’s natural to move so that Vergil can rid him of his jacket while Dante stops biting and kisses him, making his knee buckle with the intimacy of it all. It’s natural to keen when his father nips at his nape, lips following teeth, hands joining with Dante’s to undo his belt and raise his T-shirt. It’s natural – so fucking natural, so easy to fumble and press against them, clumsy with need and inexperience, something at the bottom of his stomach so scared he’s going to do the wrong thing and drive them away. They’re so used to each other and he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing and it’s only a matter of time before they get distracted or amused or turned off –

“You okay?” Dante asks against his temple.

“ _Fine_ ,” he snaps back, annoyed at being babied.

“If this gets too much anytime, you just –”

“I told you I’m fine, Dante!”

His uncle just laughs, which is infuriating, and Nero snarls at him and bites the side of his neck. Rough fingers slide into his open zipper and close around his crotch, making him cry out. His legs almost buckle, but Vergil helps him stay upright.

“Let’s take this to bed, Dante.”

“I’d like to suck him off before,” Dante says, sounding slightly out of breath. Pure lust seizes Nero’s thoughts, his erection jumping against his uncle’s hands. “Mind holding him for me?”

“Don’t talk… about someone as if he’s… not here,” Nero manages to pant.

Dante grins at him, wicked eyes capturing his gaze and not letting go. “Right. So, Nero. Can I blow you while Vergil holds you?”

Nero’s mind is drowning in obscene images, echoes of dirty dreams and month-long frustration drowning out his remaining sanity. “What are you waiting for, you fucking asshole?”

Then Dante’s chuckling and sinking to his knees, mouthing at his exposed flesh as he goes – a quick slip of tongue on hard nipples, drawing the lines of his waist to the vee of his hips, teasing kisses just short of the brim of his boxers. Nero’s cursing at him before long, trembling with desire, grabbing at everything he can – Vergil’s wrists, Dante’s hair, trying to push the other devil hunter toward what he _needs_. Then his father’s fingers skid between skin and fabric and slowly pull his underwear down, letting him feel every inch of the movement, and Dante happily follows his brother’s lead, his tongue sliding closer and closer.

When Dante eventually touches his erection, a light caress of his lips across his length, Nero almost sobs with relief. Vergil kisses at the side of his neck and the angle of his jaws, worrying with teeth and tongue at his lobe and ear, and he can’t keep his voice down anymore, pressing against his father.

“You should see his face, Vergil,” Dante breathes against his groin.

“Shut… your mouth and... suck,” Nero pants.

“I live to serve,” Dante snickers.

And then he’s finally, finally taking him in – no subtlety and no teasing anymore, just the firm press of his tongue and his mouth, the clench of his throat around Nero’s flared head, fingers griping and caressing sensitive flesh. The intensity of it is staggering, burning pleasure ravaging Nero’s sanity, tearing at his voice as he cries out, moans, growls, mind overcome by the sensation – Dante on his knees before him, sucking his dick as if he wanted nothing else in the world, deep-throating him like a pornstar – wet noise, encouraging sighs, the sounds a physical caress against oversensitive flesh. He wonders, does Dante do that to Vergil too, kneel and take it all? He grips the other hunter’s hair like a question and feels him nod and then he’s fucking his uncle’s willing mouth.

He doesn’t last long before his climax stuns him, violent pleasure shaking him to his core, and then Dante’s still sucking until the sensation is so intense it’s almost painful. Nero is shuddering, legs like jelly, and his uncle just looks at him and _swallows_ , the histrionic, slutty, sexy asshole.

“You feeling up for more, _kid_?” His voice is still rough, sluggish, jaws temporarily numb, and Nero’s arousal shouldn’t be so strong when he just came.

“Fuck you,” Nero gasps. He’s usually more eloquent, but his brain’s kind of short-circuited at the moment.

“I’m open to negotiation,” Dante grins.

Nero is still trying to think up an answer when Vergil bites at his earlobe, making him tremble. “We are going to the bedroom.”

His father helps him walk to here, divesting him from his remaining clothes, while Dante takes the stairs two at a time. By the time they arrive, the demon hunter is happily naked, sprawled on the bed and taking up all the goddamn room. Nero is actually grateful for it: it’s far less nerve-wracking to sit on the sheets when the process involves pushing his uncle on the floor, Vergil helping with ruthless efficiency. Dante protests for show and climbs back up, laughing.

“Is it your first time with a man?” Vergil’s voice is a whisper against his ear, slightly rougher than usual. Nero tries to think of a witty reply and gives up.

“Yeah.”

“What do you want to do?”

 _Everything_ is not a suitable answer, but Nero wishes it was. When Vergil turns him for a kiss, he throws himself into it, biting and sucking with a fervor that he would never inflict on Kyrie. The taste of his father’s mouth makes him dizzy and he grips his hair, his nape, pulling him closer.

Dante kisses his shoulders, warm hands following the lines of his back. “Might be a bit much to have you bottom for your first time, so. Which one of us do you want to fuck right now?”

“‘A bit too much’? I can take you no problem!” Nero snaps back before the “which one of us” part sinks in, stealing his spunk. Dante laughs, patting the side of his hips.

“Okay, okay. So what I suggest, we go take a shower –”

“No,” Vergil commands. “You are not going in the bathroom with anyone else.”

“Vergil, you killjoy!”

“What happened?” Nero asks.

“Dante –”

“ _We_ –

“Damaged the ceramic with his head.”

“Yeah, but who was pounding me?”

“Who said ‘harder’?”

Nero rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I’m taking my shower alone.”

The shower was a bad idea: it allows Nero time to think, time to anticipate. Let Dante’s words reverberate within the walls of his cranium – _a bit too much, which one of you do you want to fuck right now_. He’s never wanted something so much, and at the same time he remembers the utter taboo of what he’s about to do – and what if they get so wrapped up in each other that they forget about him –

Fuck. Why did he give his mind a break? Thinking is such a bad plan.

When he steps out of the bathroom, Dante is just finishing undressing Vergil with what seems to be a great deal of fond complaints. “And oh, look, here are _more_ buckles, just in case I got too used to your previous vest, uh?” The legendary demon hunter raises his hands at Nero’s approach, gesturing to hold him witness to his misery.

“Nero, your father’s entire wardrobe is designed to make me hate buckles. And fancy straps. And buttons.”

“Says the man who wore four belts when I first met him,” Nero retorts.

Dante affects an air of dramatic betrayal. “That’s completely different! Whose side are you on anyway?”

“Depends,” Nero says with a cockiness that he is far from feeling. “You’re gonna let me fuck you?”

“Obviously,” the demon hunter replies cheerfully.

Fuck thinking, Nero is going into it like the way he does things best – rushing in headfirst and gambling on victory. He turns to Vergil and grins. “And you’re going to fuck me?”

Vergil nods. His expression is as unfazed as if they were talking about battle plans, but his pupils are blown, dark arousal eating away at pale irises.

“Well, then, show me the ropes, old man.”

His father – his _father_ – sits up and pats his thigh, inviting him to sit here. Nero obeys, kissing him because that’s better than looking him in the eyes, for now. They’re both naked, and both hard, and the intimacy of the embrace – of soft, firm lips over his, cool tongue guiding his own – makes it difficult to breathe. Somehow he ends up pushed back against the sheets, Dante stealing his hands to kiss and lick them in a way that should _not_ be so arousing. On his other side, Vergil mouths at his throat, lips caressing his warming skin. It’s good, it’s _fine_ , but Nero wants more, an answer to the need pooling under his skin.

“I’m not made of glass, ya know,” he gasps against Vergil’s forehead. The half-demon has the audacity to tut him as if he was a kid but his mouth’s getting lower and lower – blunt teeth nibbling at his nipples, quick swipes of tongue to the planes on his waist. Nero’s hips reflexively buck but Vergil keep them in place with a push of his palms, fingers sliding to his thigh. Dante nips at the side of his neck and sucks small bruises here, the hint of pain making Nero’s demonic instinct hisses.

“ _Come on_ ,” Nero moans, trying to sound imperious. Both assholes chuckle against his skin; Vergil tongues at his navel, Dante kisses the inside of his arm, drawing a trail of fire to his pecs. The other hunter holds him down when he attempts to make them hurry up, cursing at them as Vergil just – caress and sucks and bites and one of his hands leaves Nero’s thighs and returns slippery. Nero’s too far gone to understand, panting and shivering, then blunt fingers slide down his perineum. His breath catches in his throat, anxiety clenching his stomach for a moment; Dante nuzzles at his cheeks, leaving light kisses on his forehead, nose and lips.

“Don’t worry. I know it’s surprising, but despite appearances, Vergil’s actually pretty good in bed.”

“This and violence are the only way to silence you. I had no choice.”

Nero manages a choked laugh, voice hitching at the end when Vergil’s middle finger presses against his entrance, passing clenched muscles. Dante kisses him again – butterfly kisses, frustrating in their lightness, comforting in their affection. He clings to the sensation, to his father’s hand splayed reassuring across his stomach. It doesn’t hurt – he’s just feeling so tense he’s not sure they can, if he can –

“Don’t worry,” Dante repeats against his hair. “Your only job here is not to kick Vergil in the head, even if that sounds hilarious.”

“I’m not _worried_ ,” Nero snaps.

“Good. You look hot like this.”

Maybe it’s the vulnerability of lying naked and open between the two twins, or the arousal and nervousness messing with his mind, but the compliment strikes him right where he needed it. Dante smiles against his temple, petting him tenderly, and it feels good, something to cling on, mixing with the grounding warmth of Vergil’s hand on his belly. The intrusion in him moves deliberately, careful and strange – his body is relaxing slowly; enough that his father can put another finger in him, passing the tight barrier of muscle. Nero arches slightly, breathing hard. _This_ is more real, thicker, deeper. He likes it, though whether because of the sensation or the fact that it’s Vergil’s fingers fucking him, he’s not sure – he doesn’t care.

“Faster,” he demands. _Make me feel it more_.

“Not now.”

“ _Why_?”

“Father knows best,” Vergil deadpans. Nero should find it absolutely revolting; instead he shudders, molten heat drowning out his thoughts.

“ _Fuck_.”

A chuckle against the inside of his thigh, a quick kiss here, sending fire down his nerves. They get into some kind of very frustrating rhythm, the feeling still a bit odd, foreign, a caress so intimate that his brain is struggling to wrap around it – and there’s _pressure_ here, some way that Vergil has of twisting his fingers and pressing against his inner walls that sends tremors of strange pleasure through him. Dante’s hands and mouth on him are perfectly in sync with the ebb and flow of his brother’s thrusts, emphasizing every pang and shudder with a scrape of his fingernails, a lick of his tongue, a nip of his teeth – leaving oversensitive skin in his wake.

Thoughts slowly melt away, detaching from Nero like falling leaves with each press of Vergil’s fingers. He’s gasping against Dante’s mouth, letting his uncle’s banter and indecent compliments slide off his consciousness – just fragments, _so pretty when you blush_ , _want to see you come_ , obscene filth feeding the tension that is growing in his guts –

He’s doing what he hopes is more demanding than begging by the time Vergil stops fingering him, leaving behind the needy void of opened flesh. Nero squirms, pants when Dante's warm hands on his inner thigh hold him open for Vergil; he grabs blindly at his uncle’s nape, at his father’s arm, looking for anything to ground him.

Slowly, so fucking _slowly_ , Vergil enters him. It takes a moment for Nero’s desire-dazed mind to catch up to the fact that _now_ they’re really doing it, his father is _fucking him_ , panic and shame sparkling through him for a cold second before Dante’s lips on his and Vergil’s groan against his ear erase everything but the moment.

 _This is natural_. Vergil taking him slowly, Dante holding Nero open for him. Heat and strength, and a feeling so foreign it’s grabbing him by the throat and making him _whine_.

“Want to fuck me now?” Dante’s voice is a dirty, breathless whisper near his clavicles, teeth sliding over sweaty skin in a way that makes Nero’s pulse jump. He can’t talk but he nods fervently, fingers clasping Dante’s hair to bring him down for a violent kiss.

Vergil’s moving now, Nero’s body clenching and trembling around him because he needs it _faster_ , _rougher_ , and instead his asshole of a father will not be hurried, determined to let him feel every inch of the hard flesh grinding into him. He jerks his hips, hissing curses as he tries to make him switch to a _decent speed_ , _come on, old man, what’s keeping you from fucking me right, are your knees bothering you or what_ – Dante’s laughing against his mouth until he bite at his lips in retaliation, making him groan.

“Did you inherit the inability to shut up from Dante?” Vergil half-growls, half-laughs.

“Genetics don’t... work that way,” Nero gasps.

“Clever boy. Dante, helps me make him incoherent.”

“Feels like I’m siding with the enemy here,” Dante grins. His lips and hands leave Nero, skin cold and needy in his wake, and then he’s silent, unless it’s just that Nero’s heart is beating too loud, or that he’s focusing too much on the wet, obscene noises of Vergil sliding inside him. Each thrust is so fucking slow, so fucking deliberate, opening him up. He grabs at his erection, instinctively searching for release, and snarls when Dante stops his wrist.

“Patience,” smiles his uncle, “is a virtue, especially when it’s not asked of me.”

“You motherfucker –”

“Aw, come on, the worst I did with Trish was flirting! Lemme give you something better than your hand, kid.”

As if on cue, Vergil draws back, leaving hollow need behind him. Nero manages an indignant cry but his father unceremoniously pulls him by the hips, moving them so that he’s now standing in front of the bed, the young hunter’s legs wrapping around his waist as soon as he feels their body aligning anew. Only Nero’s shoulders remain on the sheets, which leaves all power over their coupling to Vergil, and he’d bristle if the position didn’t allow for deeper, more angled thrusts, every small explosion of pleasure ripping through his irritation.

Dante straddles Nero’s hips, wicked eyes searching his – pupils blown, cheek reddened, teeth glinting between his grinning lips. He’s already seen his uncle naked, but that was from the older hunter’s natural, careless lack of modesty, not like _this_ , showing off for him without a hint of shame or restraint, strong thighs flexing as Dante grabs Nero’s straining erection and slowly impales himself.

His breath catches in his throat, paralyzed by the sheer pleasure of the tightness engulfing him, heart beating so wildly it’s going to jump out of his ribcage. Dante is _so fucking hot_ inside, muscles clenching around him – and there’s also just the view, watching the cockiest, chattiest man he’s ever known half-closing his eyes and panting on his cock. His uncle catches his gaze and smiles, letting one of his hands slide down strong abs to the proof of his own arousal.

“Like what you see?”

Nero’s answer is fucked out of his lungs when Vergil moves again – quick, sharp thrusts, pressure dragging against sensitive flesh, pressing against the part of him that brings him closer to the edge every time. Dante lets out a breathless laugh and rolls in hips in turn, impossibly attuned to his brother’s rhythm – hands clenched on his nephew’s shoulders for equilibrium, sweat shining on his skin. Nero partially triggers, just enough to summon his demon arms, and he uses them to grab at Dante’s nape, at Vergil’s throat, caressing and scratching and just – _touching_ while the twins drive him to madness. Pleasure builds up in every single nerve like an electric storm, struggling to win some control, some dominance and Dante tenses _so fucking much_ around him when ghost-blue claws roughly scrabble at his neck –

Nero snarls against his orgasm, trying to last just a second longer, but then his uncle’s bending over him and biting his throat and pain explodes razor-sharp in his whole body, fueling the fire, and wrathful ecstasy topples him. He shouts, _keens_ as Vergil’s thrusts seem to get even deeper, dragging overstimulated pleasure further to the edge of _too much_ – then it’s warm heat against inner nerves, and the awareness that his own father came inside him, marked him –

When he comes down from the high, Dante’s teeth still on his throat, he meets Vergil’s pale eyes. The half-demon draws back from him – a strange feeling, sated hollowness, firm hands lowering his hips down on the bed; they’d never have been able to stand the position if not for the twins’ supernatural strength – and nods toward Dante, who’s getting himself off with the hand he’s not clenching on his nephew’s shoulder. “Finish him, Nero.”

“You’ve got such a romantic way of putting these things,” the young demon hunter drawls with what little brain cells he has left.

Vergil smiles at him with what seems like amused approval and seizes Dante by the nape, throwing him on his back on the sheets. Nero follows instantly, settling between his uncle’s thighs to grab his erection. Dante’s hips jerk forwards and he laughs, voice ragged with pleasure. “What, no foreplay, brat?”

“What, want a candlelight dinner, too?”

Vergil sits near them, caressing Dante’s torso from the jut of his collarbone to the soft hollow of his navel; the half-demon arches against his hands, inhaling harshly. “He’s cheaper than that. Settle for junk food under a streetlight.”

“You... wound me,” Dante pants.

“Try fingering him, Nero.”

He’d bristle at being ordered around, but the idea is too hot to be refused and he felt Dante’s shudder when Vergil spoke. “’S that going to shut him up?”

“Don’t talk… about me like I’m… not here.”

For a second, Nero is about to ask for the lube, but Dante’s already so slick and loosened when he slides a finger against his entrance – something hot and needy twist in his stomach and he just shoves three fingers in, feeling muscles clench around his knuckles. Dante hisses in breathless laughter, so fucking joyful about it; an unleashed beast enjoying its freedom, unabashed and wild. Nero can understand him: everything in his body sings with the _evidence_ of the whole thing, the smell of sweat and pleasure so close to his own, the power intertwining with his – offering itself to him. The demon in him is crowing at how right this all is and currently? The human is struggling to find convincing counterarguments.

Dante’s talking, again – telling him when to curl his fingers, ordering him to go harder – and Vergil’s quietly interjecting, encouraging him on calculated slowness when his brother’s body tenses the most against them; Nero just does a mix of the two, choosing a rhythm of his own. Dante’s so demonstrative and it’s beautiful, breath-taking – seeing him tremble and jerk, skin reddening, muscles tightening more and more every second – babbling, pleasure-interspersed praises and clinging with tender hands to Vergil and Nero. He cries out when he comes, shuddering, arched in bliss, and ride his orgasm out with open hedonism.

Nero sits up, feeling dazed. He thought his desire sated but that was a few minutes ago, when he hadn’t made Dante – his uncle – the man that he respects the most in this world, a train wreck of a hero – come with his own hands.

“That was _hot_ ,” Dante grins.

“Mm,” Vergil says. Once again, Nero can’t read his expression – relaxation, indifference, fondness? – and he feels sick tension abase his arousal. Maybe Vergil regrets inviting him, after all. Maybe they’ll get bored with someone that can’t understand them like they do each other.

“Wanna do it again?” Dante offers, stretching.

Vergil reaches out to Nero and touches his nape. The memory of the bite comes back to the young hunter’s mind, drowning his anxiety under a mix of irritation, arousal and satisfaction.

Of belonging.

“I think we might need a few more hours,” Vergil suggests.

“Only _hours_? I can last _days_ ,” Dante boasts.

“Keep it reasonable, you overcompetitive assholes,” Nero retorts fondly.

Dante laughs and Vergil scoffs and they drag him to them until their bodies entwine again.

In the morning, left with only the memory of Vergil’s fangs in his nape and Dante’s teeth at his throat and the taste of their broken skin under his tongue, Nero will only be able to curse the Sparda bloodline’s regenerative abilities.

No choice but to do it all over again, then.


End file.
